


cloudless sky

by wintersrose616



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Pining, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersrose616/pseuds/wintersrose616
Summary: Sylvain shifts his weight, sighing as his jaw clicks as he adjusts it, the throbbing coming back every time he pokes at his skin.He doesn’t care too much about the pain—he’s suffered worse from wannabe suitors, after all. The mark’s the main issue he has with it. If it bruises, that’ll be a nightmare.The sound of footsteps coming up behind him makes Sylvain tense. They pause far enough away that Sylvain’s quite certain it’s Dimitri, ready with a speech about how Sylvain’s words were uncalled for and uncouth.Except when he turns, it’s not Dimitri standing behind him at the edge of the garden wall..Flayn’s gone missing. Sylvain offers a suggestion to her disappearance that no one else agrees with—least of all Ingrid.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 16
Kudos: 49





	cloudless sky

All things considered, the day is beautiful.

Oh, certainly, the people within the monastery aren’t pausing to consider the day at length. There’s whispers running rampant, people beginning to panic over rumours, too much hustling to notice the way that autumn’s starting to stain the grounds with the colours of harvest. There’s not a cloud in the sky, the sun shining overhead as if there isn’t anything wrong with the world.

It’s more peaceful than the day they had returned from their trip to Conand Tower last month, but no one is asking Sylvain’s opinion anymore.

Despite Sylvain thinking his words weren’t outrageous, Ingrid had held nothing back when she struck him, declaring him an animal with no feelings. Harsh, but whatever. He had opted to leave Ingrid and the others to their hushed, rushed, strategizing meeting with the Professor instead of inciting more anger over a reasonable possibility.

It was possible that Flayn had grown tired of living underneath the ever-watching eye of Seteth. The easiest way to do that would be to elope, leave the monastery completely.

Sylvain’s standing just outside the dining hall in the shade of one of the tall garden walls, fingers gingerly pressing along the raised, warm skin where Ingrid had slapped him so hard he was certain he’d have the handprint for quite some time. He shifts his weight, sighing as his jaw clicks as he adjusts it, the throbbing coming back every time he pokes at his skin.

He doesn’t care too much about the pain—he’s suffered worse from wannabe suitors, after all. The mark’s the main issue he has with it. If it bruises, that’ll be a nightmare.

The sound of footsteps coming up behind him makes Sylvain tense. They pause far enough away that Sylvain’s quite certain it’s Dimitri, ready with a speech about how Sylvain’s words were uncalled for and uncouth.

Except when he turns, it’s not Dimitri standing behind him at the edge of the garden.

Sylvain had schooled his face into a casual smile, but it drops with his surprise at the sight of Dedue. He’s got a frown on his face as his eyes flick over Sylvain, settling on the side of his jaw where Ingrid’s handprint is currently embedded in his skin.

He blinks. “Dedue.” He gives a slightly startled laugh, the breath just huffed through his nose. “Don’t tell me His Highness is sending _you_ to lecture me for him.”

Dedue’s eyes flick up to meet his gaze, his frown deepening as he steps forward. “His Highness did not send me, Sylvain.”

“Oh.” Sylvain tilts his head, his hand shifting to properly cover his jaw, which seems to be against what Dedue wants, based on how his eyes narrow at the motion. “What’s up, then?”

Dedue moves closer, carefully watching Sylvain’s reaction as he extends a hand. Sylvain lets him as he gently wraps his fingers around Sylvain’s wrist to move his hand. His other comes up, his movements still slow and hesitant as his thumb and finger brush Sylvain’s chin. Had it been anyone other than Dedue, Sylvain might have thought they would be going for a kiss. Instead, Dedue tilts his chin so that he can get a clear view of where he had been hit.

Sylvain takes in a breath, willing the heat that’s starting to burn across his cheeks away. Dedue means nothing more than to show care over Sylvain’s wellbeing with his motions, and yet it’s _Dedue_ tenderly holding his chin, his fingers still gently wrapped around his wrist.

He’s still holding his breath as he looks up to Dedue, so close he can see the way the light of the sun shimmers in his eyes, the way his lashes cast delicate shadows along the arcs of his cheeks.

Sylvain’s eyes flit down to Dedue’s mouth despite himself. He has to resist biting down on his lip at the sight of Dedue’s parting with an exhale.

Dedue releases him after another heartbeat; Sylvain lets out a sharp breath when he does, the air _whoosh_ ing out of his lungs. He wipes his palms against his trousers, suddenly feeling clammy.

“I’m alright,” he says, voice slightly shaky.

Dedue gives him a leveled look. “Ingrid should not have struck you.”

Sylvain laughs, trying to recenter himself. Deflecting’s been a fine-tuned skill he can always rely on. There’s only a slight wince as he laughs, the ache in his jaw worsening with the movement. “It was just a slap, Dedue. I deserved it. I probably shouldn’t have said what I did, and—honestly—I probably should have seen it coming.”

Dedue frowns down at him, concern laced through his expression, knitting his brows together. “You should not have to anticipate violence from a hand of someone who is supposed to care about you.”

Sylvain’s mouth goes dry. His pulse jumps, heart skittering in his chest, beating as quick as a hummingbird’s wings. He tries to find any way to respond, any flowery words he can thread to make it seem less serious, make Dedue’s words seem less impactful, but his tongue sticks in his mouth.

There’s nothing. Years upon years of learning to rely on his words fail him.

All he can think about is scowls and heartache and the icy water of a well.

If Sylvain’s silence bothers him, if his floundering is visible on his face, Dedue does not mention it. Sylvain works through a few options in his mind, the words stuttering and skipping around. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.

When he finds his ability to speak, he manages a roughened, wobbly, “Aww, Dedue—you sound like you’re worried about me.”

Dedue exhales a long breath, not bothering to say anything. He doesn’t look disappointed in Sylvain, but that’s only because there’s still concern outweighing anything else in his expression. “It’s going to bruise.”

He makes a tiny face, cradling his jaw in hand. “Think Mercie will heal me if I ask?”

“Perhaps,” says Dedue.

Sylvain takes in a deep breath. Silently counts to three. Exhales long and slow. His heart’s mostly calmed, though he still feels jittery, his nerves buzzing under his skin. He smiles, a false grin that Dedue’s eyes narrow at.

“You could heal it.”

That startles Dedue enough for his frown to soften. “What?”

Sylvain grins—a realer one, this time. “You could heal me.”

Dedue blinks at him, brow starting to furrow. “I don’t know how to heal, Sylvain.”

“Maybe not with magic,” Sylvain agrees. “But I’m _sure_ you know other ways.”

He either doesn’t understand Sylvain’s inflection, or is purposely ignoring it. Either way, it makes Sylvain’s heart ache, the sweetness of it flowing through him, thick and syrup.

“I know of some plants that could make salves,” says Dedue, tone completely serious as he brings a hand to his chin in thought, “but to completely heal the bruising, I would suggest asking Mercedes, or even Professor Manuela.”

Sylvain’s smile is hurting his cheek. He can’t help it. “Dedue.”

Dedue’s still frowning when he looks back to Sylvain. “Sylvain.”

“I was going to ask if you’d kiss it better,” Sylvain offers, his voice as light as he feels now, comfortable with Dedue more than he has any right to be.

The response he gets to the tease is silence, met with Dedue blinking once, twice, thrice before his expression softens, just enough to give Sylvain pause—because when was the last time someone had looked at him so warmly?

“I believe it would not be beneficial to your injury if I did.”

_That’s not a no_ , Sylvain’s brain tells him, before his thoughts can completely catch up. His lips part, heart starting to thud loudly in his chest again at the implication of _not a no._

Dedue doesn’t say anything else, though, as his hand reaches out once more. Gently (Dedue is always so gentle) his fingers settle under the dip of Sylvain’s chin. He leans down and Sylvain’s breath catches in his throat, panic starting to claw at him because no, it can’t be like this—not with Dedue. He doesn’t want his flirtations to lead to just a fling. Dedue’s better than that— _deserves_ better than that.

Instead of Dedue’s lips brushing his own, there’s the warm, gentle press of a kiss to his forehead.

Heat bursts across Sylvain’s face, burning along his ears and the back of his neck. A tender touch isn’t something he’s used to being on the receiving end of. He’s always the one pressing kisses to foreheads or cheeks, resting his chin atop heads as he slings arms over shoulders.

“Oh—,” he manages, when Dedue draws away.

He looks— _sheepish_. Out of all the things. His arms hang loose at his sides, though Sylvain notices the fingers that had cradled him so softly are twitching.

“I apologize,” Dedue murmurs. “I thought—“

“No—no, no, no! Don’t apologize! It’s okay!” Sylvain’s words tumble out of him far too quickly, a dam bursting. Dedue _apologizing_ for the kiss feels a thousand times worse than the ache in his jaw. “I asked you to kiss it better.”

Dedue makes a soft noise, nodding. He won’t look at Sylvain, which gives him a clear view of the blush darkening his cheeks, painting him with a warm flush that Sylvain doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

Sylvain opens his mouth, a flood of words at the ready—ones that terrify Sylvain with their sincerity. Before he can get a single one out, there’s the sound of Dedue’s name being called, Dimitri standing at the end of the garden, smiling warmly. He only spots Sylvain when Dedue turns to greet him. While Dimitri’s eyes do brighten when they land on Sylvain, there’s also a trace hint of his earlier disappointment that had been on his face when Sylvain had made his prior retreat.

Sylvain knows an impending lecture when he sees one.

“You’re definitely right, Dedue,” Sylvain says, loudly, as Dimitri starts to approach. He throws his voice so that he’ll be heard by his prince, reaching a hand out to squeeze Dedue’s arm, smiling at the look he’s given by him. “I’ll go see Mercie right now to take care of this—thanks!” He lifts his hand to give Dimitri a quick wave. “Be seeing you, Highness!”

He turns on his heel, all but running through the gates, heading towards where he hopes Mercedes is before Dimitri has a chance to call out to him.

He keeps up a steady jog until he reaches the cathedral. Mercedes is easy enough to find after that. She startles briefly when he calls out to her, but her eyes hone in on his jaw, which tells him plain enough that the mark Ingrid left is clear.

Mercedes doesn’t ask him any questions—doesn’t even let him get the chance to ask her to heal him. She’s holding a hand up by the time he gets within range and she presses her palm to the aching skin, fingers glowing as soon as she starts to murmur. The faith spell she casts eases the ache in his jaw instantly, the skin no longer feeling warmth from lingering pain.

“There,” Mercedes declares, smiling brightly as she takes her hand back. “All new!”

Sylvain manages a tiny, muddled _thanks_ as she walks away, humming softly to herself.

While there’s no longer an ache in his jaw, no reminder of Ingrid’s sharp hand, there _is_ the echo of a gentler kind lingering on his forehead. He lifts a hand, fingers brushing the spot Dedue had kissed.

There’s not many people around to pay Sylvain any heed. He’s able to stand outside the cathedral in peace, a hand pressed to his forehead, looking like he’s starting to go through a crisis.

He knows it doesn’t mean much— _shouldn’t_ mean much. Sylvain’s always been one for casual affection. Always trying to get Dedue to branch out from just his friendship with Dimitri which, understandably, has not been easy. He’s seen Mercedes and Annie hold hands with Dedue, seen Ashe talk excitedly with him in the greenhouse from time to time, but Sylvain has never seen any of them _receive_ that affection in kind.

But Sylvain— _Sylvain_ , of all of them—had gotten not only something small, he had gotten a _kiss_.

The few people dawdling around the cathedral aren’t focused on him. There are knights posted at the gates, Pegasus making patrols in the sky. There’s a hectic display from the nuns and monks, their efforts to try to maintain a sense of order outdone by the underlying sense of urgency resting in every one of their movements.

Flayn hasn’t left the monastery, supposedly. Everyone is supposed to be on high alert, putting all their effort into finding her.

Sylvain can’t even bring himself to think about her right now, let alone try to think of where she could be. There’s not even an ounce of guilt at his thoughts spiraling all outside of any of her. There’s no lingering thoughts of a tower or a rainstorm, or the blood that had gotten on his hands when his lance had slain his brother the month before.

All of Sylvain’s thoughts are focused on one.

He had asked Dedue to kiss him.

And Dedue _had_.

All things considered, the day is beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> starting the new year off furthering my syldue agenda thanks for reading!


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